


The Short Road

by Allegory_for_Hatred



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fast Food, Gen, Kidnapping, Minor Swearing, One Shot, Road Trips, thats it yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:13:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegory_for_Hatred/pseuds/Allegory_for_Hatred
Summary: “A… road trip.”Peter’s first impression was that his boss was irreparably and irresponsibly insane.“Yeah. Well, more like a business trip. But that’s basically the same thing.”“I don’t think that’s true, Mr. Stark.”...OR: Tony invites Peter to drive down with him to DC. The trip goes about as well as you'd expect.





	The Short Road

 

“A… road trip.”

Peter’s first impression was that his boss was irreparably and irresponsibly insane.

“Yeah. Well, more like a business trip. But that’s basically the same thing.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Mr. Stark.”

Tony gave Peter a look of mock derision. “Not with that attitude it’s not.”

“I’m sorry—” he re-started, running a hand over his face, “ —are you inviting me on a road—"

“Business.”

“—trip? Why on earth would you want to do that?”

Tony looked up from the scrap metal he had been uselessly welding together for the last fifteen minutes. In kind, Peter looked up from the code he’d been typing. Their eyes met in something of a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and patient humor. “Because I said so, and I’m the boss.”

Peter raised a brow.

“You’re an intern?” Tony tried. “It’s good experience?”

The keys below Peter’s fingers started neatly clicking again.

“It’s going to be boring if it’s just me.”

“Ah. There it is.” Peter smirked. “You don’t want to work.”

“Where’d that attitude come from, Underoos? As your boss—”

“I’ll come with, Mr. Stark.” He shut the screen on the laptop and turned to watch Tony’s amused expression. “If Aunt May says it’s okay.”

It was getting late, so Peter started packing up his things. He threw on a sweatshirt in time to hear Tony’s, “She does.”

Pause. “…what?”

“I already asked your aunt hottie.” Stark said with a shrug. “She said it’s okay.”

Backpack half-swung over his shoulder, Peter reassessed the smirk on Tony’s face. “…then why’d you even ask me?”

“Because I’m a good boss,” he waved the welding gear around loosely, “And because I’m a very generous person.”

Trying to hide his growing nervous excitement and amusement, Peter fixed the second strap on his bag. “So long as I won’t be in the way.”

“I wouldn’t invite you otherwise.” Tony hummed patiently. “Now get out of here, kid. If you’re not home in thirty minutes your aunt’ll kill me.”

“Yeah,” Peter said lightly, “she will.”

 

(He get’s back to the apartment ten minutes late, but Aunt May’s still at work. He fixes himself some leftover lasagna—May’s latest cooking endeavor that tasted far more like charcoal than anything else—and eats it in his room.

Every year summer break catches him off guard. It’s always lonelier than he remembers.)

 

When he wakes up the next morning, May is snoring softly from her room. He only knows she’s there because his hearing is heightened, and even though he’d slept soundly through the night, Peter a little wishes she had woken him up to say hello.

Aunt May works very hard to maintain their style of living.

Peter sneaks a look at his phone and sees two messages left unread—one from Mr. Stark and the other from Ned. Eternally starstruck, he checks Tony’s first.

_Irondad_ _: hey kid._ _i’ll_ _pick you up tomorrow at eight._

_Irondad_ _: be there be square_

A spark of nervousness runs up his spine when he responds.

_ok! thx_ _mrstark_ _!!_

He hits send before he’s entirely comfortable with the message, but if Peter doesn’t send it now, he never will. When it comes to texting, Peter’s the type to triple-check his messages before sending them. Especially when it comes to Tony.

He’s also not entirely sure why they’re road tripping to DC as opposed to flying. Peter knows for certain Tony could just fly them there.

Next is Ned’s message. It’s unrelated to the Tony Stark issues in Peter’s life, so he disregards it for now.

_ned_ _!!!_

_mrstark_ _invited me on a road trip_ _? ?_

_????_

Peter tends to wake up early, so he’s pretty sure Ned’s still asleep. In the meantime, Peter thinks, he should get some Spider-Man time in before Tony steals him away from New York.

He’s got the suit on and a foot out the window within ten minutes of waking up.

 

If he’s munching on a hot dog while stopping a mugging, the rumbling of his stomach quiets any objection. All the same if he’s responding to a text from Ned while eating a hot dog and stopping a mugging.

Karen is sharp and robot in his ears with Ned’s reply, “ _What!? Dude your life is crazy.”_

Peter kicks a man in the jaw and sends him sprawling onto the alley floor. “I know right?” Karen transcribes his text while Peter webs up the mugger. “I have no idea what’s happening.”

“ _Is this an Avengers thing?”_ Karen reports. “ _That’s amazing.”_

“It’s something,” Peter grunts, “I’m freaking out.”

He shoves the last of the hot dog into his mouth and swings away after making sure someone has called the police. It takes a minute for Ned to reply.

“ _I’m freaking out for you.”_

“Thanks.” Peter hopes the edge to his words is transcribed into the text, but he’s decently sure it’s not. He perches on a taller building and waits.

“ _When are you going?”_

“Tomorrow morning. It’s only like five hours from here to DC. I don’t know why he’s calling it a roadtrip.”

“ _Trip on the road.”_

_“_ I guess.”

He hears a shout some two blocks away and is on the move before Karen can tell him anything else. When he gets close enough to assess the situation, Peter can see there isn’t any actual emergency, just some kids playing loudly at a park.

“ _You’ve got to let me know what happens.”_ Ned sends. “ _Like, in immense detail.”_

“Yeah,” Peter says, doing a flip over the park for the kids, “Maybe.”

 

(Maybe. He’s certainly excited to spend time with his mentor and personal hero, if not a bit stressed about the suddenness of it all. Either way. He gets back home at six, contented by a long day of helping people. Every little good act really adds up. He says his greetings to May, they eat cold leftovers, then he says goodbye.

She’s off to work by the time Peter has started packing a bag.)

 

It is very hard to sleep when you are both dreading and eager for the next day’s events. Peter learned this when he was a kid going to the Stark Expo, then learned it again last night. But by the time he gets to sleep, Peter’s a rock. He only wakes up on time— _just_ on time—because his phone is ringing loudly from the side table. He answers on autopilot mostly just to make the dreadfully monstrous sound stop blaring.

“Kid! I’m outside. Are you on your way or what?”

Peter’s heart stops and in one horrific second, he is instantly awake. He slept in. He  _never_ sleeps in.

“Yes!” he squeaks “Y-yes, I’m coming! Give me a minute!” More like twenty. He hangs up the call before Tony can say anything else. It’s a move born entirely of nerves and panic. This is also the reason why he throws on some clothes and grabs his half-packed bag without considering what he looks like or what he’s brought.

He runs out the door without saying goodbye to May. He’ll only be gone about a day, anyway. Besides, she’s probably asleep, if she’s even home yet.

It’s not hard to pick out Tony’s car in the street. His is the amazingly expensive one that Peter is decently sure no one in this neighborhood could ever hope to afford. He’s about to barrel into the back seat when the driver’s side window rolls down and reveals his mentor’s unruffled expression.

“Front and center, kid. Happy’s not joining us today.”

Peter shakes himself a little, trying to come out of that post-sleep haze and gets in the passenger seat beside Tony. He sets his backpack between his knees. “Where’s Happy, then?”

“Gave him a few days off while we’re out of town.” Stark says passively, if not a bit well-humored by Peter’s curious and dazed expression.

“Oh. Good for him.”

“Good for him,” Tony turned the corner to Peter’s block. “And good for you.”

“I thought you said this was a business trip..?”

Tony’s face scrunched up meanly. “I did. And it is. ‘Good for you’ because you get to spend time with me.”

Peter snorted into his hand. Tony’s gentle laughter filled in the gaps.

They spend the first hour in a warm, light bubble of familial coziness.

 

Tony is distinctly aware of when Peter starts to get hungry. He knew that eventually they’d stop to get lunch—he’d planned on stopping somewhere expensive but distinctly good about halfway to DC. But Peter is an entity of unbridled chaos that gets hungry at the hour-and-a-half mark.

The kid started fidgeting nervously some ten minutes ago, an action which steadily decreases to quietly leaning against the car door and holding an arm around his waist. Tony waits for Peter to say something for almost ten minutes before the kid’s stomach does it for him. He let’s them both take a moment to appreciate the honest intensity of Peter’s hunger as a growl fills the car. He also takes this moment to watch the spiderling’s face turn scarlet.

It’s adorable, if not a little bit sad.

“You bring any snacks, kid?”

“N-no...” Peter looks away, muttering under his breath something about leaving in a hurry.

“Me neither.” Tony decides to spare Peter the shame of digging too much. “Now seems like a good time to grab some lunch, then.”

“Mr. Stark—” Peter grumbles, red-faced, “—that’s okay. It’s only been like an hour.”

“Hour and a half. Last thirty minutes really makes a difference.”

The kid’s always been a bit odd about receiving things, which is a hesitation Tony’s never been aware of in himself. He’s willing to try being gentle about things like this, but it can be hard when Peter is so obviously hungry.

“I’m getting hungry, too.” Not really. But he supposes he could eat something. “What do you want to eat?”

Peter refuses to make up his mind, claiming that since Tony is so insistent on paying for everything, he should be the one to decide. They end up stopping at a WcDonalds at the next exit.

Their arrival marks the end of the second hour.

 

The third hour begins like this:

Tony Stark—billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, superhero—stands in line at a seedy, rundown WcDonalds. He stands in line for two minutes trying to figure out how food could possibly be this cheap.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Peter says gently, if not in a voice full of humor. “If this peasant food is too much for you to handle, Mr. Stark.”

“No.” he steels himself up and moves to the front of the line.

“My hero.” Peter fake swoons. At Tony’s scathing look, he just laughs harder.

“Welcome to WcD—… Tony Stark?”

The reaction is instantaneous. Everyone else standing around or in line is looking both starstruck and confused in one moment. Peter catches a few phones pulled out and filming the celebrity buying some of the cheapest and worst food in the world. Peter shuffles a bit closer behind him.

“That’s right.” Tony says, seeming to be unaware that he’s become the center of attention in no time at all. Instead, his eyes are focused and squinting at the menu overhead as if trying to decipher something entirely unknown to him. “I’ll take… one of everything.”

“What?” the employee says, still looking a bit confused that Tony Stark was there at all.

“What?” Peter choked, “No, Mr. Stark. That’s way too much.”

Tony shot him a cursory glance. “No need to be coy now, Pete. Besides, if they can sell food this cheap, it can’t be that much.”

“Nope. No. That’s wrong.”

“…still. You’re a growing boy.” Tony says this just loud enough for Peter to want to curl up and die.

He doesn’t. What Peter does instead in push ahead of Tony and order for them. He picks two of the cheaper items off the menu partly because he feels a bit guilty about the money, but also because all the items are cheap, so it doesn’t really matter. “Please,” he finishes meekly. Peter is pulling out a few five-dollar notes when Tony comes back to himself and, grumbling, pays for the food himself.

Peter finds it in himself to rationalize how little this payment will affect the Stark fortune.

They’re told to wait for their food in a breath that is both awed and panicked. Peter can understand the feeling. He feels like that every time he sees Tony, too. This is, admittedly, rather often.

Tony moves back to wait with him, still seeming unaware of the many eyes on them. He leans over to watch Peter get them drinks. “You have so little faith in me. I had it handled.”

“You really didn’t, Mr. Stark.” He hands Tony a soda, which the older man takes with a soft smile and open hands.

Making a noise of faint appreciation, Tony takes a sip. “Sure I did. You don’t know what you're talking about, kid.” At Peter’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Besides. I meant what I said about being a growing spiderkid. Your metabolism’s gotta be insane.”

“Well that’s not… _not_  true.” Peter huffs. “But that’s still  _way_  too much.”

“You’re way too much.”

“Wow. Good one.”

Peter is halfway through a laugh that is both warm and tight-lipped when he hears someone calling out their order. Peter grabs their meal to-go then turns back to find Mr. Stark.

He’s talking to some fans. Or, Peter assumes they’re fans. He left the man alone for one second— _honestly._ Peter takes a moment to appreciate the Stark sized hole at his side before he wanders over to where Tony’s acquired a following. “Mr. Stark? Um… we can go now.”

He’s feeling tense and awkward by so many people. Peter’s daily life has very little interaction with others, and he likes it that way. But Tony is on a time frame—even if he seems to have forgotten that—so Peter steels himself up at his mentor’s side.

“—Oh, my intern, Peter.” Stark introduces, “Good kid. Very smart. Terrible taste in food.”

“You haven’t even tried it yet.” He banters easily. “And you’re the one who picked WcDonalds. So really that’s on you.”

“I’m personally offended, kid.”

While Peter and Tony joke, the other patrons watch on with wide eyes and mouths agape. Someone takes a picture.

(Tony Stark is smiling with his arm wrapped around a kid and standing in the middle of a beat-up WcDonalds. Something about the scene just feels right, even if the expensive suit looks too clean to be within even a mile of the place.)

Peter pushes Tony out the door. The picture goes viral in an hour.

This entire exchange takes maybe ten minutes.

It takes a mighty shove to get Tony back into the car and on to driving. Peter appreciates the newfound quiet for all of a second before the sounds of tires on cement and cracked laughter hits his ears. Stark is softly laughing into his sleeve while he drives.

“Here.” He says with a pink face, passing over a burger and fries. Watching Tony struggle to grab it and watch the road is both humoring and a tad frightening. Peter waits with bated breath, hands tightening into fists on the brown paper bag.

Tony takes a bite of the burger after struggling with it for a minute. “Ew,” his face pulls up oddly, “No wonder it’s so cheap. You should have let me take you somewhere better.”

“You mean more expensive. And no.”

“Brat.” Then he takes another bite. Tony motions for Peter to start eating, too. Everything is calm and perfect.

(Having a full stomach is rewarding in that it makes Peter a little sleepy. Tony is entirely taken by the cute, dopey look on his face as Peter nods in and out of sleep. He just wishes the kid would talk to him—he knows they’ll have to stop for food again soon, maybe. Because Peter’s a growing spiderkid with a crazy metabolism, and that’s a good reason for Tony to spoil him with food.)

The third hour is busy up until the point that it isn’t. Then it’s just full, and soft, and a little bit lovely.

 

They’re somewhere between the three- and four-hour mark when Peter’s hairs stand on end and his ears ring with a distinctive strangeness. Ned calls it his Spidey Sense, Peter calls it Helpful and Specific Anxiety.

Tony pulls over for gas, not seeming to notice the way Peter’s eyes dart around the station. He  _knows_  there’s trouble, he just can’t find it. By the time he can calm down enough to think things through, Tony is out of the car and filling it up.

Peter panics. He’s hopped out of the car and is at Tony’s side before either of them knows what’s happened. “Mr. Stark,” is all he has to say before his mentor is just as alert and stony.

At least he manages to look more casual about it. “What is it, kid?”

“I’m not sure. My…” he flounders for a second before settling a bit weakly, “ _Spider Sense_  is going crazy. Something’s not right.”

Stark mercifully doesn’t poke fun at the name, just raises an eyebrow. “Your danger sense thing?”

“Yeah. Mr. Stark…”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He says, even though his face looks a little pressed while he pays. “But… let’s get in the car anyway.”

Peter nods. He hates how on edge he feels when they had been having such a nice time. He really hates to put Tony on edge when the man is usually so stressed out—even if he won’t admit it.

They get back in the car with a tenseness to the air. This is the fourth hour.

 

The feeling doesn’t go away, but it quiets down just a little. It’s quiet enough that he can almost ignore it.

Even so, Peter’s shoulders are taut and his eyes jump around the road while they drive. Tony’s face is tight and thin, sending Peter a glance every so often.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asks after a bit.

“No. Something’s wrong, Mr. Stark. I can tell.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

Even though he’s trying to be reassuring, Tony’s assertion just makes Peter feel a bit nauseous.

Stark puts a hand on Peter’s leg comfortingly. “We’re only about twenty minutes out. Once we get checked in to the hotel you can… lay down or something.”

“I’m sitting down now, Mr. Stark. That’s like the same thing.”

Tony’s lips twitch a bit, and Peter breaths out until the tickling in his brain calms down enough for him to think rationally.

“Anyway,” he adds, “It won’t go away until the danger does.”

Twenty minutes pass and Tony pulls into the hotel lot. Peter’s hairs stand on end and his ears ring with a vivid intensity. Stark must notice the look in Peter’s eyes, because he’s at his side in a second.

This is the instant just before Tony is knocked out.

 

This is the instant just after:

Peter is distinctly aware that there are three men, each one taller and wider than he is. Under most circumstances where Peter’s involved, physical mass doesn’t determine who’ll win the fight—especially since one of the fighters is a superpowered vigilante in disguise.

The tallest of the men—dark hair, angry blue eyes—yanks the passenger side door open so hard Peter thinks he might hear is snap. He leans forward as if to grab Peter by the scruff of his jacket.

Only problem is Peter is faster. By the time the man seems to come to his senses, Peter’s leapt from his seat and sent the man flying a few feet from a particularly nasty, stress-induced punch to the face. He’s almost certain the man was knocked out by the force of the punch. Peter takes the momentary pause to spin on his heels and check on Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark who’s knocked out with a gun to his head.

“Shit!” The gunman shouts, “I thought that was his intern! Not some—some  _super freak!_ ”

Peter feels his chest tighten at the words, but it’s too late to back out now. He takes a slow step towards them, expression dark.

He’s got them flustered. The gunman’s hand shakes as it holds the gun—enough to give Peter a heart-stopping moment of pause. If he takes another step the man might kill Tony.

_He might kill Mr. Stark._

There is a brief second where Peter’s eyes meet the gunmen and they reach this same conclusion.

“Get in the van or I’ll kill him.”

They’re standing in front of a large, white van. It’s the sort of van Peter might jokingly call an ‘abductor van’ if he weren’t actually about to be abducted in it.

(Peter doesn’t consider himself a hero. He’s a vigilante, which is like hero-adjacent. But Tony Stark—now  _that’s_  a hero. An actual, real-life hero. And Peter can’t just let him die, even if there’s a chance that fighting these men might save them both the trouble of being abducted.)

Peter gets in the van.

This is how the fifth hour begins.

 

They don’t knock Peter out, but they certainly do try. He’s got the enhanced ability to not be taken out by little hits—like a gun butted against his head or a few kicks to the side. This both infuriates the kidnappers and spurs them on. So long as Tony is knocked out, no one touches him, and Peter is eternally grateful.

Real heroes don’t get hurt like this. Just lying still and taking it.

The man Peter knocked out rides in the back of the van with him and Mr. Stark. He’s got a black eye that makes Peter feel a little better, but the blood on Peter’s face and the bruises on his ribs lessen the victory a tad. They sit locked in a staring contest of sorts before both of them seem to realize Peter’s not going to be knocked out and no amount of being awake will get Peter released.

It’s almost a relief when Tony wakes up, because there’s blood on the hero’s temple and about thirty minutes had passed. Meanwhile, Peter’s Spidey Sense was loud and persistent the whole time on top of his aching, terribly awake body.

“Ugh, where..?”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter tries not to sound to relieved. “We got kidnapped, I think.”

Tony takes the briefest of moment to wake up, then he’s a sort of critical attentiveness that Peter can really appreciate. His aged eyes do a quick scan of their environment—a moving van, they’re not alone—before settling on Peter’s bloodied and bruised frame. “Shit, kid. Are you okay?”

“M’fine. You’re the one that got knocked out.”

“That’s—”

“Alright, enough of that.” Their kidnapper tuts, stepping forward despite the van’s movement. “You were supposed to stay knocked out until we got to the warehouse. You’re lucky we’re almost there or I’d knock you out again, Stark.”

Tony’s expression becomes all sharp angles and dark lines. He turns a critical gaze to the mottled mess that is Peter and seems to reach a conclusion over why he hadn’t been knocked out, too. This concerned yet deadly expression exists for maybe three seconds before Tony has wiped it away. What remains is something distant and mocking.

“So what is it this time?” He snarks, “Disgruntled employee? Overzealous competitor? Not a fan of rich, handsome super heroes?”

The stranger’s eyes shadow. “You’d better watch your mouth.”

“But then who’ll you have to lighten the mood with my lovely quips?”

For a brief moment, Peter holds his breath. He knows what Tony is doing, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want Tony to get hurt, especially when the man isn’t actually enhanced like he is. A hit to Peter won’t do nearly as much damage as a hit to Tony. Peter wants to cut into the conversation—inject himself into the harm he knows these men are capable of.

The van pulls to a sudden stop, and Peter never gets the chance.

“Your lucky day,” the kidnapper grunts through his teeth, “We’re here.”

As they’re hauled out of the van—hands tied useless behind their backs—Tony snorts. “Is it revenge? You’ve got to give me a hint, buddy.”

 

They tie Peter down first, flush against the wall to some hot metal pipes. They burn his skin at first touch, but he tries not to let it show how much it hurts. By the look on Tony’s face, he doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job. The man who drove the van ties Tony down on Peter’s left far enough away that they can’t touch each other, but close enough that he knows Tony can feel the pipe’s heat. He hopes it isn’t as hot over there.

The three men converse for a second before one of them turns out to leave. Peter can tell he’s driving the van away by the thrum of its engines outside. Perks of enhanced hearing, he supposes. The last two men—Peter calls the first Black Eye and the second Blonde Hair in his head to keep them straight—continue speaking in hushed tones.

“You alright, kid?”

“Yeah.” Peter ignores the throb of pain in his body and the searing heat on his wrists. “What about you?”

“Never been better. Any idea what we’re up against?”

Peter readjusts his hands in their bindings, but it doesn’t help. “They didn’t tell me anything while you were out, Mr. Stark. Blonde Hair has a gun, for sure. I don’t know about Black Eye.”

Stark assess the situation quietly to himself. Then, “Can you take them out? I haven’t got the suit.”

“I  _can._  Not sure if I  _should._ ” He lets the sentiment hang low in the air before adding, “They might hurt you, Mr. Stark. I can’t risk it.”

“They might hurt you. They  _have_  hurt you.” Tony shifts his weight, then flinches against his restraints. “If this is about keeping your identity a secret—”

“It’s not.”

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

There’s blood on Tony’s face, just above his right eye. A steady trickle of blood spills down from the gash and smudges roughly at his eye. Peter heals fast. His cut already stopped bleeding. The ribs hurt, but he doesn’t think they ever broke. Tony’s been hurt longer and he’s still hurt now.

“They held a gun to your head, Mr. Stark.” Peter relents. “If I mess up, they’ll kill you!”

“If you don’t try, they might kill us both.”

He can tell by the look in Tony’s eyes that there’s some sort of conflict brewing in the man’s mind. Peter’s not sure he wants to risk it, but if he’s ever going to break out, it’s got to be now—while the criminals are distracted.

They aren’t distracted for long.

The intensity of Peter’s conviction and Tony’s controlled anger was, in fact, above a whisper. Both kidnappers broke away from one another and stomped over to them when they got too loud.

“Should we move you two apart?” Black Eye smirks.

Blondie smiles meanly at his side. “Nah. This is better, I think.”

Peter feels that tightness in his chest and the sharpness in his neck spike suddenly. He thinks they must see the panic written on his face.

“So it is revenge then?” Tony’s voice isn’t quite as light anymore. Instead, it’s a pointed mix of barely concealed anger and annoyance. There’s something strange in his eyes when he glances over at Peter.

“Sure,” Black Eye says, “Not for us, of course. Someone hired us to make you suffer.”

“And suffer you shall do.” The other adds haughtily.

Tony bites his tongue. “Then why bring the kid? He’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Probably not. Too late now. Anyway, if you want him gone so badly, we’re definitely doing our job.” Black Eye watched Tony with a quiet glee, reaching into his pocket and taking out a long, sharp knife. Peter feels his heart stop, but the other man keeps going. He’s arching his arm out, about to make a swipe and—

Tony.  _Tony._  He needs to keep Tony safe. It’s his responsibility to keep people safe, even heroes.

There’s no thought or effort involved in snapping off the bindings, just easy, brute force and he’s free. Another second and Peter is knocking Black Eye to the ground, punching his face one—twice for good measure—until the man is knocked out. Another perk of having super strength is that it doesn’t take much to win a fight. He’s a bundle of useless adrenaline.

He gets off the man and hears the knife skitter away on cold, dirty concrete. Blondie is taller and wider than him, and he’s standing near Tony with a gun pointed well enough to do some real damage.

The sight stops Peter dead where he stands. If he takes a step forward, Blondie could kill Tony in a second. Peter’s not fast enough. He looks to Tony for guidance, hoping something in his eyes will inspire an answer.

But Tony’s eyes aren’t on his. They’re on his stomach. Peter follows the gaze down to his stomach to see his shirt is covered in murky red blood.  _Oh._  During the scuffle Black Eye must have… stabbed him. Peter hadn’t even noticed. As if seeing it were enough, his middle is suddenly screaming with eager, angry pain. He feels like he might throw up or scream or die.

“ ‘ser Stark…” he groans, arms wrapped around the wound as it continues to gush openly. “A-ah…”

He doesn’t remember the rest.

 

Tony does.

The blonde one—Blonde Hair, he recalls mutely—seems to panic. His partner is blacked out from where the kid knocked him one good. Seems like the plan is falling apart. He sees this chaos and plays off of it, because if he doesn’t he’ll die before he can get Peter to a hospital.

“So, are you new to the hitman thing?”

“What?” Blondie frowns over the body of his associate.

“Like, do your victims usually beat up your guys? Or is this a new development?” Tony tugs at his bindings, hoping they’ve come loose. The movement on the pipes burns at his wrists, but he doesn’t care. Not with his kid just bleeding out right there.

“Shut up. I-I’m not done with you!”

That’s when Tony hears it. “We’ll see about that.”

The warehouse door explodes inwards in a flash of sheet metal and rusted hinges. His suit is hanging angrily in the air at the door, empty yet somehow full of rage.

 

(Tony has been abducted before. In fact, this is hardly anything new for him. He knows the playbook like he knows being an alcoholic—it’s familiar, but not something he likes to make a habit of these days.

But Peter is something new. He’s not going to wait around to see what happens. When he sees the look on the kid’s face while he’s getting gas, Tony presses the emergency button on his watch that will send the suit to him. He isn’t quite sure what the problem is, but he isn’t going to play around when it isn’t just his life on the line.

Tony is familiar is dangerous situations, but he doesn’t play games when those he loves are involved.)

 

Peter wakes up to three things: darkness, beeping, and hushed mumbling.

It sounds like Tony. “—my fault. You wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for me.”

The omission makes Peter’s stomach feel heavy. “S’not true, Mis’r Stark.”

“Kid!”

It takes a moment for Peter to figure out the darkness is that his eyes are closed. He props them open on a tired want to see his mentor’s face. “Wha’ hap’ned?”

Stark’s expression is soft around the edges like it’s relieved and sad at the same time. “Kidnappers. Hitmen. Never did figure out which one.” Tony squints down at Peter’s face. “You got stabbed.”

That would explain the throbbing all over his body. “S’ry, m’ster Stark.”

“What for, kid?”

“You’re gon’a miss the meeting.” He asserts, feeling drowsy.

The room is suddenly filled with a warm laughter. “Didn’t want to go to that thing anyway, kid. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Glad you’re okay too, m’ster. Stark.”

There are bandages wrapped around Tony’s wrists where the bindings forced him up against that scalding hot pipe. Peter would bet money he had some too, if they hadn’t already healed over. Tony follows his gaze, then moves his arms behind his back to hide the burns.

“I called your aunt,” he says, “I think she must be at work. I’ll try again in a bit.”

Peter feels close to falling asleep, but the mention of his aunt makes a new wave of sadness wash over him. “Don’t both’r. She works late. Won’ be home ‘til early.”

He thinks Tony’s frame stiffens at that but can’t tell. “Oh. When do you see her, then? Between Spider-Man and interning?”

There’s a moment of pause until Peter hums as answer.

“Well… if you’re ever wanting to have dinner with someone, feel free to stop by the tower.”

“Hmm?” Peter’s heart catches in his throat.

“Always room at the table for you, kiddo.”

Tony looks so open and warm—like a bubble of happy familial love—and Peter can really appreciate that. Can really appreciate him. Despite the beeping of a heart monitor and the cold, clean smell of hospital air, Peter is suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of being at home. He shoots up from where he’s laying down and wraps two bandaged arms around Tony’s body. Mr. Stark melts into him.

“Ow—”

Tony pulls away, looking sensitive and soft. “Shit! Kid, are you okay?”

Peter pulls Tony back in, thinking the warmth of the hug won over the hurt of sitting up too fast. “Y-yeah. Just… my stomach hurts.”

Stark laughs something loud and honest and lovely. “That’s the WcDonalds, kid. Told you that food was no good.”

**Author's Note:**

> "wcdonalds"


End file.
